Life Changing
by grindingnmotion
Summary: There were a handful of moments in Roger Davis' life that he could describe vividly, but there were only seven - and exactly seven at that - that he recalls that changed him. MARK/ROGER - mentions of Roger/Mimi & Roger/April -


**Title:** Life Changing

**Author:** shita.to.yoru

**Fandom:** RENT (movie/musical)

**Pairing(s):** Mark/Roger (mentions of Roger/Mimi & Roger/April)

**Rating:** PG – 13

**Genre:** Angst/Drama/Romance

**Disclaimer:** I do not own RENT in any way shape or form. All characters belong to Jonathan Larson respectively.

**Summary:** _There were a handful of moments in Roger Davis' life that he could describe vividly, but there were only seven (and exactly seven at that) that he recalls that changed him._

**Note(s):** Just came up with this idea when I saw one of those writer block things that livejournal has up when you come to their page after logging in. Hopefully, you enjoy it.

**WARNING:** This fic does contain a description of the use of drugs and contains the death of characters. You have been warned.

* * *

There were a handful of moments in Roger Davis' life that he could describe vividly, but there were only seven (and exactly seven at that) that he recalls that changed him. For better or for worse, he isn't so sure of it, but he knows the changed him - forever.

**i.**

The blood pounded in his ears as he looked up into her face and at that exact moment, she had looked up at him and she could see the fear they held.

"Don't worry, baby, it'll be fine," she replied softly over the pounding rain as she reaches out her small hand and brushes the back of it over his cheek before she returns her arm to her leg.

He lets out a deep breath, reminding himself to stay calm his eyes fixating themselves on April's form. He watches silently, his green eyes focused on her fingers wrapping tightly around the syringe before she positions it right at the crook of her elbow and against one of the dark veins. She looks up at him one last time, a small smile pulling at her cracked lips before she pushes the used needle into her skin and when it is far enough, she pushes the liquid into her body, but she stops before she empties the contents into herself. April pulls the needle from her body and looks up to Roger.

"Your turn, baby."

The rain continued to pound heavily.

**ii.**

It was clear when he walked in the bathroom that she was dead, but even so, he tried to save her. He tried to stop the stream of blood that ran down her wrists as her cold, dead body lay heavily against the bathtub and he tried to shake her awake, screaming at her to wake up as hot tears streamed down his face, but it was no use. She was dead long before he had gotten there.

He was sure it had taken Mark forever to pull him away from April's lifeless form, but Mark had some how managed to and he tried to tell him it was going to be okay and that everything would be fine, but Roger knew that wasn't the case. He had felt her, touched her and she was as cold as ice. She was dead, but Roger couldn't voice it.

The two hadn't even noticed the note tapped on the bathroom mirror until one of the paramedics came out, the note dangling from his gloved finger tips and spoke only one phrase.

"You should get tested."

It was then Roger took the note, which looked crisp and clean compared to the now blood-covered bathroom, and looked down to see three words scribbled in April's hand-writing.

_"We've got AIDS."_

**iii.**

Mark had told him it would be hard, but God, he hadn't imagined this.

He was sweating, his ragged tee shirt and plaid pajama pants sticking uncomfortably to his body, but at the same time, he was freezing cold and his was shivering. No, he wasn't shivering, he was more like, shaking violently as he tried not to throw up the little he had eating that day. His body was getting thinner as the days wore on and getting weaker, while slowly, his mind began to break and all he could think about was getting a hit. Just one more hit was all he needed.

"Mark, _please_! I can't do this anymore! I _need_ it!"

"You don't need it."

"Yes, I do!"

"No, you don't."

"Mark, let me have it. Please! Just one more hit, that's all!"

"One more hit will turn into another hit and then another and then-"

Hazel eyes went wide with shock. He hadn't even notice, hadn't even realized that his hand had balled into a fist and moved away from his side to collide with the left side of Mark's face until it was too late. Mark's glasses had flown from his face to the floor as his cheek flushed a bright red, and he didn't move or speak. It was as if, he thought, that Mark _knew_ it was going to come to this, but just hoped it hadn't and that's what scared him the most.

Roger never once begged for another hit. Roger never once took another hit.

**iv.**

Long brown locks flowing down her back, big brown eyes that danced behind the candlelight, a beautiful smile that shimmered in the moonlight and, not to mention, a body that was young and absolutely stunning.

She was beautiful.

But, from the moment he had lit the candle, he had seen the glazed look in those beautiful brown eyes and it was then that the sweat that was gathering on her form was not from being over-heated and that he knew the shivering wasn't from the heat being turned off. He knew what she was before she had confessed to losing it.

She was junkie.

Yet, Roger was captivated.

**v.**

He had wanted to believe it was all a dream and that, any minute now, he would wake up and everything would be back to normal. They would all be together, smiling and laughing, the looming death sentence completely forgotten for the moment and, they would be a family again. But, he knew this wasn't a dream. Angel wasn't going to be there the next time because he was gone. He was dead.

He had heard it from Mark, who Roger was sure he had heard it from Collins, but it didn't matter at that point because the reality of the situation had already hit Roger. In an instant, the death sentence he had temporarily ignored had become a reality once more and even though he knew he would die one day, and sometimes even wanted to die, Roger still feared it. The thought of dying, watching somebody die made Roger's stomach turn and a lump would form in his throat and he'd begin to panic and when Roger panicked, he ran.

Roger wasn't stupid and he knew that running wasn't going to bring Angel back to life or help him escape his date with death, but he knew no other way to cope. Ever since was he was a young boy, running was all Roger had ever known. So, he packed up what he owned and in the run-down, beaten up piece of shit car he had bought, Roger high tailed it out of New York City and to sunny Santa Fe.

But, "sunny Santa Fe", Roger realized, really wasn't that sunny after all.

**vi.**

_"Would you light my candle?"_

The phrase, to everyone else, seemed simple and completely meaningless, but to him, to them, it was everything. It was _theirs_. It was **I love you**.

_"It's out again."_

But this time, he wouldn't be able to light it again. This time, it was out and for good.

Roger fell to his knees and openly wept for the feline of Avenue B.

**vii.**

He doesn't know why it happened or why he did it for that matter. It just _happened_.

He figures it was because he was lonely and he needed someone and Mark was there. Mark was _always_ there and Roger knew Mark wouldn't push him away no matter what happened between them. And, Mark could never say no to him.

They were just sitting on the couch, knees inches apart, freezing to the bone on that cold winter's night and they were both silent. Mark was trying to get him to talk, to say anything because ever since Mimi died six months ago, he had locked himself up both physically and mentally. He had shut down and become the once silent rocker he had been after April's death and Roger assumed it was driving Mark mad, even though he would never openly admit it.

"Roger, _please_, talk to-"

He hadn't even realized his legs had untangled themselves from underneath his body and had moved, but he did move and he was quickly covering Mark's lips with his own. The kiss was rough, hard, sloppy and far from perfect, but Roger hadn't meant it to be perfect. He hadn't meant anything by it, he just needed someone, _anyone_, to make him feel a little more alive and there was Mark.

Mark had struggled, but Roger had the upper hand and he roughly pushed Mark back into the couch, forcing the filmmaker to lie underneath his body and he took both of Mark's skinny wrists and pinned them above his head before he proceeded to attack Mark with his lips. Kissing, nipping, biting, scrapping – he did everything he possibly could to the lips and pale skin of the filmmaker's neck and leaving bruises in his wake. It was rough, hard and uncaring, but Mark didn't complain and he didn't push Roger away.

When the whole ordeal had ended, both were panting heavily against one another and Roger's hand was still holding Mark's spent member and his in Mark's and Roger's head was spinning as he let his eyes flutter open and closed before he realized what had happened. Without warning, he roughly pulled away from Mark, who looked up at him with a puzzled look before Roger made his way to the bathroom to wash himself clean, pretending that what happened was nothing more then the release he needed.

Later that night, lying awake in his bed, the magnitude of the situation hit Roger and he began to easily fear the worst. What if Mark had a cut on his hand and he touched Roger, who's fluid could have easily infected him? What if Mark got HIV because of _him_ and his stupid need for some human contact that he had purposely avoided?

The thought bolted him out of his bed and quietly, he made his way to Mark's room and when inside, he made his way over to Mark. He knew Mark was a heavy sleeper, but he still feared the idea that Mark could awake any minute and wonder what he was doing in his room in the middle of the night, so Roger kept quiet as he walked over to the filmmaker. Trying to keep his touch light, he lifted the blonde's hand and, by the light of the moon, he examine the hand that had brought him pleasure that night, looking for any open wounds that he could have gotten infected. Thankfully, there was nothing there and with a small sigh of relief he lowered the hand gently and made his way out of the room.

"Mmm, Roger?"

The rocker froze in his tracks.

"What are. . .you doing?"

"Bathroom," he replied before quickly making an exit, but he knew Mark wouldn't by his lie, but he didn't question him the next day when he woke up and the incident was never mentioned again

And, for once, Roger wished Mark would stand up and say something, but he didn't. He, like always, said nothing.

**viii.**

It was months later, when it happened again, but this time it was different. This time, Roger knew he didn't just kiss Mark because he was lonely and needed some human contact he had purposely avoided. No, he had done it because he had _wanted_ it. He had wanted to feel Mark's soft lips against his own, his smooth hands against his chest and feel his callused hands against Mark's smooth chest. He had wanted to feel everything about Mark, inside and out.

They had been on that damned couch again, sitting there, silently on a warm spring night when the breeze was blowing ever so gently into their loft through the window they had kept open to get some air into the stuffy place. And, both of them were doing there own thing; Mark was watching one of his old reels of films while Roger was playing around with his guitar which he had only picked up after that night with Mark.

Roger could hear the sounds of joy in their voices and by theirs he meant everyone – Collins, Angel, Maureen, Joanne, Mimi, Mark and even himself, and they were all happy and enjoying life, living it to the fullest and as Mimi had said that one cold Christmas Eve two years ago when she entered unannounced and uninvited, without regrets. It was then, in that moment when Roger remember her words and her way of life and when he realized that, for the past several months, he had been holding back and that he needed to let ago. If not for himself, then for Mimi's sake.

It again, had been without warning, but this time he had made sure it was sweet and slow and caring, showing Mark that this time, it wasn't about need. It was about love and when he pulled away, Mark was looking at him, but he wasn't puzzled or confused. He was just smiling softly, a small gleam in his blue eyes.

"Yeah, me too."

And, Roger grinned before he pressed his lips against Mark's once again.


End file.
